


when i kissed the teacher

by jaimelanniser



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 13:43:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12013986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaimelanniser/pseuds/jaimelanniser
Summary: based off abba's hit song 'when i kissed the teacher'





	when i kissed the teacher

Sansa Stark was a good student.

In fact, she was top of her class. She had never gotten below a B+ even if algebra had never been her forte, and she was always the first to raise her hand when the teacher asked a question. With the right answer, mind you. Every time, he would say “That’s right, Sansa” and smile at her, and his eyes would crinkle and she’d be walking on cloud nine for the rest of the day.

Sansa Stark was a good student, but Mr. Snow was making it extremely difficult for her to pay attention to maths right now.

How was she supposed to understand a word of what he was saying when he had come up to her in silent study time and was now crouching beside her desk, talking to her in that soft, low voice of his, pointing at numbers on the page while she stared, absolutely dumbofounded, at the way the little hairs on his beard moved when he spoke. How was she supposed to play nice when his arms were flexing under that stupid shirt he wore rolled up at the elbows, and he smelled like fresh soap and like logs burning in a fire and a hint of dog because of course he had a dog, the absolute arse.

She wasn’t sure when exactly her mind had drifted in between his walking over when he had looked directly at her, and now, where his knee was kind of brushing the edge of her skirt, and he was pointing his stupidly sharp pencil at the shapes on the page, jotting down his messy numbers; she wasn’t sure when she had erased the classroom from her mind and, as she watched him, wondered what it would be like for him to run those careful fingers down her skin.

He would be so careful, she thought to herself. He’d make sure to pay attention to every inch of her, like he always scrutinised the board before moving onto the next subject. He’d ask her who her daddy was, and she’d say “You are, Jon”, and he’d say “That’s right, Sansa…” while he dragged his lips down her stomach, his beard scratching a little, but it wouldn’t matter, because she’d have her eyes shut, and he’d explain to her, slowly, making sure she knew exactly what he was saying, what he was going to do to her. He’d keep eye contact with her all the while as he moved down her body and as always, Sansa would be ready and willing for him, to take in everything he wanted to give her.

Margaery always made fun of her for being such a teacher’s pet, and sitting at the very front of the classroom, directly in front of his desk, so that even when he was sitting there and they were all working on their own she could sneak glances at him, at the way he pressed his lips together and his brows furrowed together when he was particularly concentrated on a paper. And every now and again, he’d lean back on his chair and flex his arms behind his head and look around — and every now again again, he’d catch her eye and wink at his favourite student, and Sansa’s panties would get a little wet.

She wondered if he’d keep his hair tied back while he was fucking her. She’d seen it loose, a few times, back when it had been shorter and Mr. Snow hadn’t had to gather it up in that ridiculous man bun that made her squeal into her locker the first time he’d walked with it down the hallway with his cup of coffee and stack of papers under his arm. She wondered how long it’d be by now and whether it’d even be possible to run her fingers through those curls.

It’d only come loose when they were  _really_  into it, she decided, biting her lip at the thought. Only when he’d almost lost control, maybe with her mouth around him, asking him to grade her through it, and his fingers would tangle in  _her_  hair and he’d shut his eyes, cursing through gritted teeth.

“Sansa? Did you get it?”

Blinking, Sansa broke out of her daydreaming slowly, dragging her eyes back up to his eyes from where she’d been blatantly staring at his mouth — how had he not noticed? Her pencil was still hanging from her lips, and she pulled it out, perhaps a bit slower than was necessary, watching, with a leap of her stomach, as he dropped his gaze to it for a second before looking back up at her and tilting his head with a curious smile at her lack of response.

That was perhaps what did it, in retrospect, the little head tilt.

All she knew later was that something had snapped inside of her and all sense was tossed out the window because she could not go one more second in this suddenly suffocating classroom, with the man of her  _dreams_  with his face so close to hers without kissing him. So she did. She kissed him. Her  _teacher_.

It was all so fast, so sudden, that she didn’t even really remember what it was like, other than a brief tingle in her lips from his beard scratching a bit before she’d pulled back.

Her hand was fisted in the front of his shirt, wrinkling it all up horribly, and his face was still right there, in front of her, red and shocked into silence with eyes wide as he stared at her, and for a second, all she could hear was the loud thumping of her heart in her ears.

For a second, then  _screams_. As the entire class went wild, hollering and cheering and cursing around them, and Sansa should really let him go now, but it was like her fingers had frozen into stone, and she was holding her breath while the world around them stood still.

And then, he just smiled.


End file.
